I’m not going to write about Covid-19 or the delta variant or imbecile anti-vaxers. I will not write about California wildfires or European floods or the myriad other natural disasters fueled by climate change. There’s no way I plan to write about the world situation in general, which Kurt Vonnegut once presciently  said is, “Desperate as usual.” Instead I think I’ll write about the trilogy of fountains on our back deck that bubble and gurggle all day and all night.

I close my eyes and these fountains become a creek making sweet music as it tumbles over rocks through a primeval forest. With California in the grips of a prolonged drought, our fountains have become a refuge and a reliable sourse of water for the many birds that make our backyard home.

The hummingbirds hover tentatively before dipping their long beaks in for a drink. They occasionally feel brave enough to fully immerse themselves and splash about like happy children. The chickadees are a different story. These brave little songbirds dive right in with no hesitation. One of our fountains is a succession of metal seashells which empty into one another. The chickadees always choose the topmost shell. I’ve stood as close as three feet away while they drink and bathe. They seem oblivioius to my presence and continue splashing away. Finches, jays, tanagers and towhees all perform their daily ablutions  in our fountains.

One fountain is a white porcelin bowl decorated with a delicate light blue floral pattern and sits just above a clawfoot tub. One recent morning I found tiny muddy footprints running along the bottom of the tub and up onto the rim right below the fountain. These were raccoon tracks. Evidently our resident birds are not the only creatures who enjoy these refreshing waters.

Another fountain is a deep rectangular basin fed by a weathered and algae covered bamboo spigot; it is lined with smooth, colorful sea stones that Carol and I collected along the coast. We once tried to populate this fountain with tiny snails hoping to keep it clear of algae. Alas, the snails didn’t last very long, victims of some mysterious nocturnal predator.

There’s a sliding glass door in our bedroom that opens onto the deck which we keep open with a screen at night in the summer. The fountains blend together in perfect three-part harmony, lulling me and Carol to sleep. The sound of moving water;  crashing waves, mighty rivers, gentle creeks or simple rain has such curative properties. Storms along the coast invoke awe and a deep respect for the power of nature. A comfortable place beside a forest creek is the ideal setting for quiet meditation. A walk in the rain is a dream come true.

Twenty six years ago I was floating down the Nile River on the trip of a lifetime to Egypt. Our captain and I stood together one morning at the bow of his felucca. Snowy egrets perched atop tall trees along the river bank, the rising sun making their feathers glow. Fishermen in small canoes cast their nets among the rushes which swayed gently in the breeze. Small children waved and splashed joyously in the shallows. The cobalt blue waters just flowed and flowed. I recall commenting to Captain Salah how beautiful I found this scene to be. He turned to me and simply stated, “The Nile is life.” And so are our fountains, a microcosm of the beauty and life giving properties of flowing water.